Lies
by prying.delilah
Summary: Mark's flirting with danger in an effort to feel. A 'Mark's Addicted to Heroin' story. NOW COMPLETED!
1. Prologue

**A 'Mark's Addicted to Heroin' Story, because there aren't enough already.**

**Uh, I've seen this done, but never how I want it done, so I'm doing it. Not really sure where it's going, so input would be greatly appreciated. I'm not sure if this is going to be slash or not. Except for a sidebar in a different story, I've never written slash, so we'll see. But I am pretty sure that, though I love Mimi to pieces, she won't be in this story. But she might…I lied, I don't really know…**

**Prologue: Every Time We Lie Awake...I Pass Out Again**

"**You said it feels good I said I'll give it a try  
Then my mind went dark"**

**-_Lover I Don't Have to Love_, Bright Eyes**

"I told you, I'm not shy," if asked, Roger would freely admit that he was preening himself for his friend, watching Mark as he watched him.

"Oh that's sick," Mark was entrapped in a web of repulsion tempered with awe and reverence, his eyes never leaving Roger's. "You can actually do that with someone watching?"

"How do you think I do it with April?" Roger gave a grin that would've made the devil proud. Staring intently at the younger man, he slowly pushed the needle into his vein silently daring Mark to look away. He didn't even inject all of it, but it was enough. Roger placed the needle on the table, an unspoken invitation to Mark. Languidly, he closed his fast dilating eyes and leaned back against the couch as waves of warmth passed over him.

Before Roger completely passed out, he thought he saw Mark look longingly at the needle. Shaking his head, he laughed a little. The thought of Mark shooting up was absurd. No, little Mark, safe Mark, dependable Mark, just was not the type.

MRMRMRMRMR

The needle was on the table, taunting Mark. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was bad. He knew that he had to be responsible, because no one in the loft was going to be. Collins was out smoking marijuana and diving into philosophical discussions, April was probably off fucking someone so she could steal their heroin as they slept. Maureen…was being Maureen. Cheating on him, while trying to maintain the façade that she was the loving, devoted girlfriend. And Roger, Roger was having what looked like an intense, yet silent orgasm. None of them were thinking about how they'd just lost Benny, or that they were all unemployed. No, they would all leave it to Mark to somehow magically fix their problems. It had always been Mark's role, but suddenly, he was fucking sick of it.

Maybe it was all because of Roger and April. One minute Roger was a rising star; he imbibed on some marijuana now and then, but nothing more serious than that. And then fucking April had shown up, with her fire engine red hair and her sweet heroin filled promises. After only one month of dating, Roger had become a full-blown addict. And the worst thing was, he seemed happier. For once, Mark wanted to know what it was like to be that happy and not worry every waking moment.

The needle still laid there, a tangible ultimatum waiting to be answered.

Just this once… 

_No one has to know…_

_There's not even that much left…_

Mark's hand reached out towards the needle…

You'll regret this… 

His absentee conscious finally decided to show up, a bit too late unfortunately.

_It's better to regret what you've done rather than what you haven't…_Mark reasoned.

And without another thought, Mark plunged the needle into his arm.


	2. The Lies I Tell Myself

**Okay, so…either people keep accidentally pressing the button to read my story and then realize that it wasn't what they were looking for…or people just didn't want to review. Not that I'm judging but…reviews mean love. I like being loved. Frequently. Just saying…**

**Chapter 1: Lies I Tell Myself**

"Every time we lie awake

After every hit we take"

**-Everything About You, Three Days Grace**

"Why do you do that?" Mark asked Roger as they lay on the floor beside each other. Mark was still feeling the faint aftereffects of the heroin while Roger, though he had taken more looked and seemed completely normal.

"Why do I do what?" Roger asked innocently as he lit a cigarette.

"The heroin. Have sex with guys. All that crazy stuff you do."

Roger gave a shrug. It'd been a long time since he'd thought of that. He hadn't actually slept with a guy since he'd cheated on April early in their relationship. But she'd forgiven him, since they'd gotten a shit load of heroin out of the deal.

"You're only young once," he said finally, blowing out a stream of smoke. "And I'm a hedonist. Go figure."

"So you'll do anything?"

"If it feels good, hell yes," Roger said, his voice tainted with bitterness.

"But is that bad?" Mark asked, confused with his friend's tone. "Wanting to feel good?"

Roger thought before he answered, for once. "No. But I am hurting others. I'm hurting you," he looked at Mark hard. "And I know that. But…I can't stop and that's bad." He sounded as if he were reading off of a manual.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Mark asked breathlessly, amazed that Roger was so keenly aware of his destructive behavior. _Their _destructive behavior, Mark realized. It was no longer Roger's alone.

"Not think about it."

**Two Months Later**

"Fuck you Mark!" Roger's screams passed through the thin walls like sun through an open window. "Just give them to me, I know you have them!"

A loud crash could be heard from the bedroom. Mark winced, there went another lamp. He waited until the thrashings stopped, until he could almost hear Roger's breath becoming steady. It was only when he slept that Mark felt safe enough to shoot up.

But Mark was not addicted.

Heroin was his only escape, his once in awhile vacation. When he got fired, he shot up. When Collins moved away, he shot up. When he came home to find April dead in the bathroom, he shot up just enough to be strong for Roger. And then after he'd fallen asleep, Mark shot up until he passed out from the sensation of it all.

But after that first time, Mark was much more careful. He continued to using, but never when Roger was around. And never with anyone else's needle. He would admit to being stupid, but not that stupid.

April and Roger had been stupid. In Mark's mind, it wasn't the heroin that had fucked Roger up, it was his own stupidity. Sharing needles, shooting up in alleyways and at impromptu orgies, they were bound to have gotten something.

When Roger had come home to find April dead in a pool of blood, Mark realized that Roger was addicted. Mark understood that if not helped, very soon he would come home to find Roger dying in his own river of blood. But that was because, unlike Mark, Roger was addicted.

So Mark helped him through withdrawal. Tied him up when he got violent, held him when he was scared and left him to himself when he was paranoid. Roger had always been too caught up in his own life to notice anything Mark did, so the heroin use was easier to hide now. Through his fascination, Maureen and he became two peas in a pod, both of them struggling to live up to their imaginary personas. Luckily, after Collins left, no one was looking too closely at Mark. And when Maureen moved out because Mark put filming first, Roger second and her last, Mark breathed a sigh of relief. One less person around night and day to discover his secret.

But if he wanted to, he could stop. And he would stop. When Roger was better, when Collins came back, when Maureen stopped haunting his dreams. When everything fell into place, Mark would gladly give the heroin up.

Or so he told himself.


	3. I Only Lie in the Light

**Hey, I'm back. School starts again tomorrow, so updates may be very sporadic, but they will happen. **

**Okay, in this chapter, Mark is going to be taking some very desperate measures. Very desperate. Just read, and you'll see. But if implied sex offends you, this chapter isn't for you.**

**Chapter 2: I Only Lie in the Light**

**Where's the kid with the chemicals?  
****I thought he said to meet me here but I'm not sure  
****I got the money if you got the time"**

**-_Lover I Don't Have To Love_, Bright Eyes**

They were broke.

No money for food or heat. They would barely have enough to get Roger's AZT. But the thought that kept running through Mark's head was, how was he going to make it through another week without shooting up?

The little tin Altoids box they kept the money for AZT in was calling to Mark. Whispering to him, promising him the sweet release of unconsciousness and ecstasy.

Mark groaned with disgust at himself. He wasn't actually debating risking Roger's health just so he could get high. Mark had to get out. Remove himself from temptation.

He found himself walking through the city like a man possessed. Every step he took in the biting cold, every time he felt the prickle of the wind against his skin, he wished it were a needle.

"You already looking for more?"

Without even realizing it, Mark's feet had betrayed him and took him to the Man's favorite drug drop off site. Mark tried to shrug off the comment, to pretend he hadn't heard anything. But in his mind, the very sight of the Man was enough to trigger the need for heroin.

_Not need, _Mark reminded himself. _Want. _

"Do you even have any money?"

Mark was silent.

"I'll take that to mean no." The Man came closer to Mark, closing the distance between them. "How long until you get paid again?"

Mark snorted. _Paid again? That implies a steady paycheck, something I don't have. _"Soon," he lied, hoping that some pity would be taken on him. "Couldn't you float me something…?"

It was the Man's turn to snort. "I'm not your mommy kid. I insist being paid upfront."

"But I don't…I don't have anything…" Mark's voice was weak and pitiful, even to his own ears. "Please," he tried to hold back a whimper, but it came out anyways.

"There are things you can do…" the Man said, looking Mark up and down. "A guy like you…so innocent looking….so…corruptible."

Mark could hardly believe his ears, was he actually suggesting what he thought he was?

"There are many guys who'd pay for a night with you. Not me…but I know people." The Man began to walk away, taking the last of Mark's will power with him.

"Are you serious?" Mark asked quietly.

"Unfortunately."

"I would never do that!" He called to the Man's retreating figure.

"Sure you wouldn't. But if you do, you know where to find me."

**MRMRMRMRMRMRMR**

Skin against skin. Lips crashing into teeth. And they went lower, so much lower.

The stranger's fingers deftly unknotted Mark's scarf, throwing it to the floor. He replaced his fingers with his lips and lifted Mark's shirt off. The stranger ran his hands up Mark's arms, stopping when he reached the telltale track marks.

"So this is why you're here?" The stranger's voice was a whisper in the thick darkness. He gently ran his fingertips over the marks.

"Please don't…don't touch me there," Mark's breath came out in a ragged gasp.

"You know," the man resumed his former actions, sliding his hands to the zipper of Mark's pants. "If you wanted," he stopped to suckle Mark's stomach. "I could pay you with it."

"Money is better," Mark panted, squeezing his eyes closed hard.

"If you say so," he chuckled, continuing to leave hickeys all down Mark's pale chest.

"Can you just…do it…?"

"Sure."

**MRMRMRMRMRMR**

**So, yeah. Mark's a whore. I realize he has gone whoring before in other stories, but in the ones I've read, it's for Roger's AZT. There's a huge difference between whoring for yourself versus someone else. A huge thing with regret. **

**I'm not sure yet, whether this will be Mark/Roger. Probably hinges on whether I plan to have Mimi make an appearance. I don't know!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers!**


	4. Your Lie Reflects My Lie

**Sorry for the shortness. But I don't know when I'll be back. And for a heads up, I know Mark is Jewish. I know the story of the Prodigal Son is a parable and therefore in the New Testament. But please, for all intents and purposes, Mark is going to reference it. **

**Disclaimer: Roger! Roger!**

**He didn't answer. Therefore, I don't own.**

**Chapter 3: My Lie Reflects Yours…And I Feel Sick**

"**I hate everything about you  
Why do I love you?"**

**-_Everything About You_, Three Days Grace**

Mark didn't get back to the apartment until 3 a.m. Stumbling through the darkened loft he made it to the bathroom before he retched in the toilet.

Leaning against the wall, drenched in his own sweat, Mark began to shake. How many times had April or Roger been in this exact same spot, doing the exact same thing? He didn't want to think about it, but the thoughts were coming regardless.

_I am not Roger,_ Mark said, in his most unconvincing inner voice. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the little bag full of white powder. _I am not April._

It was only while he was high he was able to believe himself.

MRMRMRMRMRMR

Dark purple bruises decorated Mark's neck; proof that the night before hadn't been a dream but a reality. Mark knew that if he opened his shirt to look at his chest, there'd be more, a trail of purple dots until they disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

With a heavy sigh, he reknotted the scarf around his neck, making sure all the marks were covered.

"Mark!" Roger called from inside. "What's taking so long? You've been in there…for a long time!"

"Oh," Mark quickly vacated the bathroom. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you had to go."

"I don't," Roger frowned. "But I was worried."

_Roger worried? _That was new.

"Where were you last night?" Roger asked with forced nonchalance as he flopped onto the couch.

"I was out." Mark said cryptically, before amending his answer. "I was out filming," he lied.

Mark watched as Roger's eyes landed on his camera, which was partly buried, by clothes and other debris. Oh well, it wasn't the first time he'd been caught in a lie. But Roger wouldn't comment on it, Mark was sure.

"Oh," he said in true 'don't ask, don't tell' Roger policy. "Well that's good. It seems like it had been awhile."

"Really. I hadn't thought you'd notice."

A look of pain graced Roger's face. "Hey man, I know that lately I haven't been there, but-"

"Lately? Roger, when have you ever been there for someone other than yourself?" Mark's voice wasn't his own; the tone was too caustic, too biting. And yet it was coming from his mouth.

"That's not fair!"

"I don't think you're the one to be talking about what's fair Roger! All the time we've been friends, it's been me looking after you. You've been the cool one, the one who was forgiven all his horrible sins because he was the Prodigal Son. You had everything Roger! And all I've had was your shit to take care of!"

It was like Roger had been slapped. "Are you serious? Are you saying you were jealous?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Mark yelled back. "Being roommates with Roger Davis, Sex God, Rock Star and Bad Boy?"

"Mark…I was a fuckin' junkie! You saw me during withdrawal! You honestly envy that?"

_You only go through withdrawal if you get caught, _Mark thought silently to himself. Realizing that Roger wouldn't understand though, no matter how much he tried, he gave up. "No, Roger I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just…from afar, it looked like you had everything."

"Jeez Mark, you were scaring me. Don't ever say stuff like that again. I might have to kick your ass."

It was pitiful, that even now, Roger couldn't see two feet in front of his face and piece together anything. "And that would be bad," Mark replied.

"You're damn right it would be," he growled, before retreating back into his own room.


	5. I'll Believe the Beautiful Lie

**Allo, cordyangel here again. What's up? For me, nothing. Life is going to be pretty hectic, but I love this story so much I'll probably still update. But review! I love reviews! And then check out my other RENT stories, _Of Always and Definites _and _I am Jack's Roger. _Catchya later!**

**Chapter 4: I Believe the Beautiful Lies…Until I See The Ugly Truth**

"**Every roommate kept awake  
By every sigh and scream we make,"**

**- _Everything About You_, Three Days Grace**

Lying on his bed, Roger was looking up at the ceiling. The tiles were once white, but flooding and wear had made them a sick yellow color. The little R and A was carved in the last tile, from when he'd proposed to April while having sex. They were so high they'd stood on the bureau to carve that in.

As Roger stared at the ceiling, April was the last person he wanted on his mind. Instead, a different person was occupying his thoughts.

Mark.

Roger knew something was wrong. As much as Mark would refuse to admit it, Roger was not as dumb as he liked to pretend he was. In his silence, he'd had noticed Mark's gradual death. Roger noticed that he never went filming anymore. Maureen's name was practically banned from the loft, understandably, but still. Mark was no longer the same person he'd first met. This person was sullen, bitter, desperate. He didn't want to know the person Mark had become, let alone live with him.

But what could he do? Roger wasn't the man Mark once was. In his former glory, Mark would've known exactly what to do, sweeping in like a knight in shining armor and righting all the wrongs of the situation. Hell, he wasn't even a Collins, a guy who'd lighten things up, if only for a little while using vodka and enough anarchy gone wrong stories to sink the Titanic.

Roger heard the door to Mark's room close and he turned over, burying his head into the pillow. He was over his head, way over his head and he needed help. Reluctantly getting out of his bed, Roger crept out of his room to the couch and the phone. he dialed Collins' number and waited for him to pick up. Collins may not have been the Messiah of comfort, but he was all Roger could think of.

Instead of the simple hello Roger usually got, Collins launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed explanation. "Look, I'm sorry but it was one time! So you were cold for a couple hours, it could've been worse! I could've handcuffed your-" His exasperated voice sounded over the line.

"Collins? It's Roger! What handcuffs? Do you have someone over there?"

"Roger? Handcuffs? To hell with handcuffs!" Collins tactfully ignored his last question. "What's up?"

"Collins?" Roger didn't know exactly what to say, so he just blabbed on. "I think Mark's in trouble. He's been out late; you know how strange that is. And he's been snappy. And he hasn't been filming! And-"

"Roger! Roger! Calm down! I think you need to just take a deep breath."

He did as he was told and immediately realized why he'd called Collins. No matter what Roger said, he did think of Collins of an older brother who would be there to help them whenever. Much more than just a philosophy teacher with insane theories.

"Now, how long has this been going on?"

"Uh…I don't know. For a long time I think. I mean, for a long time I was…you know…not capable of determining how Mark was doing."

"But ever since you've been better he's been like this," Collins stated.

Roger shook his head and then realized that Collins couldn't see him. "Yes."

"Well I hate to say this Rog, but it could be normal."

Collins must've been able to sense his open mouth states away because he quickly went on. "I mean, not Mark normal but normal for someone in his circumstances. He's been taking care of you for the past couple months and with Benny and me leaving, it's got to be hard." He almost sounded sorry that he'd left him and Mark alone to fend for themselves. Too late for apologies now, Roger thought meanly. Not like they'd mean anything now. He didn't want his apologies, he wanted his help.

"He might just be adjusting," Collins finished.

"Adjusting?" Roger asked incredulously. "Collins, he's depressed, I think. He's not FILMING! When has Mark ever not filmed?"

"That's true," he admitted. "But you still may be jumping to conclusions."

"That's possible," Roger said thoughtfully.

"It is. But I want you to keep a close eye on him. Don't let anything bad happen to our Mark."

Roger smiled for what seemed like the first time since April. "I won't. And Collins?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave this one tied up in the bathroom until they start screaming bloody murder. It doesn't enhance the experience, trust me."

"Screw you, I know how to please a man," Collins laughed. Roger thought he could hear a "Hell yeah!" in the background, but he wasn't sure. He hung up the phone feeling much better about Mark. It was okay. They were okay. Everything was going to be fine, even if he did decide to become a recluse and Mark was never home.

Longing for it to be just the two of them like it had been those nights when Collins was cruising gay bars and Benny was at cyber cafés, he opened Mark's door without knocking.

"Hey, wanna see what's on tele-what the hell are you doing?"


	6. And The Lies Come Crashing Down

**Chapter 5: And The Lies Come Crashing Down**

"**I wanna lover I don't have to love  
I wanna girl who's too sad to give a fuck."**

**-_Lover I Don't Have To Love_, Bright Eyes**

Mark had gotten careless.

The door was unlocked.

The evidence spread out on the carpet in a neat row.

The needle was already in his arm, already injecting the drug into his vein.

He might've noticed that the door opened. That someone was yelling at him. Asking him what the fuck he was doing.

But somehow he found he couldn't care less. He was already gone, drifting, drifting; leaving the cold loft and the angry Roger behind him.

RMRMRMRMRM

_Ugh_, Mark thought as he stirred. It had to be midnight. Why was he on the floor? It was dark and yet, he could sense someone's presence. "Roger? Is that you?"

The lights immediately flicked on and Mark let out a violent groan. "Damn Roger! What the fuck's that for?"

Roger's face was pale and drawn as he closed in on Mark. Leaning down to his level, he stared him in the eyes for a moment. His hand retracted and came across Mark's face with a reverberating clap.

Damn, that had hurt. Roger had never ever hit Mark before, at least not like that. They'd gotten into fist fights before, of course but Roger had never gone after him, unprovoked and while he was unarmed and unaware. Rubbing his cheek gingerly, he leaned up on his elbows. "Fuck Roger! I don't need this right now, it's fucking-" Mark stopped suddenly, collapsing onto his stomach again. As he lay on the floor, he saw the reason why Roger was pissed and smacking him around his room.

On the carpet was the almost empty bag of powder. And next to it, a drained needle. Mark didn't have to roll his head over to see the rest of his smack equipment on the floor. He knew it was there.

"Roger…I…" Mark struggled to keep from crying as he tried to force the words out. "It's not what it looks like," he winced at his choice of words, they sounded false even to his own ears.

"Mark. I'm not a fucking idiot! What the fuck were you doing?" Roger's voice was loud and angry. All the harsh melody of his voice had flown out the window and only jagged edges remained.

"I don't…I don't know…I was…"

"You were what Mark?" Roger flew at his friend, shoving the bag into his face. "This is what killed April! This is what nearly killed me! What's still killing me!"

Mark stopped being sorry. He stopped apologizing. Who the fuck did Roger think he was? "The heroin isn't what killed April! She slit her wrists Roger, she did it herself. You're dying from AIDS because you were too damn stupid to stop having sex with a fucking slut!"

Roger's hurt showed on his face but Mark wasn't done. He was out for blood. "This is my life Roger, MINE. I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"Mar-" Roger began to bellow, but Mark was already off the floor and getting his coat and winding his scarf several times around his neck.

"I'm going out," he said determinedly, heading for the door.

"Like hell you are," Roger blocked the door with his body. He had at least fifty pounds on Mark and a good 5 inches but a surge of adrenaline tipped the odds in Mark's favor. Roger would've followed him immediately if Mark hadn't thrown a well placed punch at that exact moment.

He left the door open as he ran down Avenue B.


	7. Broken Lies

**So, I had an incredibly crappy day. Someone spray painted graffiti on my school so I'm understandably depressed. But to make myself feel better…a double update!**

**Chapter 6: Broken Lies**

"**Every feeling that I get  
But I still don't miss you yet…**

**only when I stop to think about it"**

**-_Everything About You,_ Three Days Grace**

Luckily for Roger, Mark was a lousy runner. In gym class, he'd always been the one reaching for his inhaler the moment someone mentioned laps. Lung capacity had forever been out of reach for him. He hadn't made it past Avenue A before Roger caught up with him.

"Don't you dare try to run away Cohen!" Mark's last name felt strange on Roger's lips. He never called him Cohen, ever. But he supposed this wasn't the usual circumstances anyway.

Mark stopped dead in his tracks. Though it was raining, Roger could still tell that he'd been crying. The raindrops did nothing to hide his tears. "Go back inside Roger. You'll get sick."

The anger Roger thought he'd suppressed came back with a vengeance. "Don't do that, don't you dare do that! Don't make this about me!"

A small laugh came from Mark. "It's always about you Roger. That's just the way it is."

"I'm not the one who's fucking addicted to heroin, now am I?" Roger challenged sharply. "I'm not the one who-"

"Go home Roger!"

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! And I'm not going anywhere without you!"

Mark's head turned slightly. "If I go with you, you'll go home," his question came out more as a statement than anything.

"Yes," Roger said through clenched teeth.

"Then let's go."

RMRMRMRMRM

They didn't talk the walk home. Mark coughed a few times, Roger slicked back his hair more than once, but they remained silent. It wasn't until they were both in dry clothes back at the loft that Mark opened his mouth.

"I'm not addicted, you know." He fiddled with his wet scarf, which was still around his neck.

"Like hell you aren't."

"I'm not!" Mark cried indignantly.

"Mark, don't try to fucking lie to me. I was on heroin too, if you remember!"

"Like I could forget," he breathed. "I've got the scars if I ever do."

Roger ran a hand through his still wet hair. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. He had never been the type to take care of people and even if he were, there was nothing he could say to make this better. "You honestly believe you aren't," he said softly. "Tell me Mark, do you ever feel like you'd do anything, anything to shoot up?"

Mark shifted around uncomfortably and pulled on his scarf again without answering. Scared, Roger didn't even bother to ask what he'd already done to support his habit. "That's what I thought." Roger chose his words carefully

"I can go without it."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can," he insisted. "I can. I'll show you."

Roger shook his head. He didn't want to give in, but what else could he do? At least this way he'd have time to map out a plan and Mark would realize that he wasn't in control of his use.

"Okay."

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

Roger wasn't able to sleep that night, he was still reeling from everything that had happened._ Oh god, _he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about it. _Oh my god. _Of all the horrible ideas that had run through his mind about Mark, they all paled in comparison to the cold hard truth. Mark wasn't sick. He wasn't depressed. He was a fucking junkie. After all he'd been through, he had to watch Mark do the same. And what if he was positive for HIV? Had he ever thought about that?

Roger doubted it. As he remembered, when he was using he only thought about two things: shooting up and April.

MRMRMRMR

He lasted two whole days before he cracked.

The first night, he'd began to shake uncontrollably.

The next morning, his pupils were so dilated that they only had a ring of blue around them for irises.

He stayed up for a full 24 hours, refusing to eat or drink anything Roger gave to him.

By seven o'clock Tuesday evening, Mark was gone.

"Shit," Roger had been in the bathroom when he heard the door to the loft open and close. He knew he shouldn't have taken so long. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door.


	8. Swirling, Lying Darkness

**Chapter 7: Finding Different Shades in Swirling, Lying Darkness**

"**The club is closed we're up the block  
****Your hands on me  
****I'm pressing hard against your jeans  
****Your tongue in my mouth  
****Try to keep the words from coming out  
****You didn't care to know  
****Who else may have been you before…  
****I want a lover I don't have to love  
****I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk,"**

**-_Lover I Don't Have To Love,_ Bright Eyes**

Roger had only been in the bathroom for maybe five minutes but he was clueless to where Mark may've gone. It only proved how little he'd been paying attention to his friend, the fact that he couldn't find him.

But they probably had one acquaintance in common who would know where the hell Mark was.

The Man.

He was outside a seedy men's club, the Cat Scratch. From afar it would look like the cute blond beside him was chatting him up, but Roger didn't miss the sly handshake money/drug exchange.

"Hey Roger. Long time no see. Last time I heard you were quitting." The Man looked the disheveled Roger up and down. "How's that going for you?"

"I'm fucking high on life," he replied harshly. "Where the hell is Mark?"

He let out a laugh. "Roger, you and April were some of the only customers I ever bothered to learn names with. Who is it again you're looking for?"

Roger stepped closer to the Man, invading his personal space in a quietly threatening manner. "Blonde, glasses, wears a blue and white scarf."

"Oh, him. Maybe," the Man looked at Roger again. "What do you want with him?"

"What business is it of yours?" He shot back.

"The business of my clients is my business," the Man said calmly. "Somebody messes with them, they're messing with me."

"Yeah, and the fact that they're paying your bills has nothing to do with your concern. Just tell me where the fuck he is."

The Man jerked his head to indicate the club. "He's in there"

Inside the Cat Scratch? What was Mark doing at a place like that?

"Wouldn't you like to know," the Man murmured, as if reading Roger's mind. Go in and see. Say that I sent you."

Roger stepped into the club and was nearly blinded by the neon lights swirling around in the blue darkness.

"And now, presenting Mimi Marquez!" Roger looked up for a moment at a girl who was handcuffed to a pipe. Her soulful brown eyes bore into his, almost making him forget about the reason he'd come. Shaking his head, he tore his eyes from her and walked away. Last thing he needed was a girl to mess with his mind.

Not knowing who to tell the Man's sentiments to, he walked up to someone who looked to be a bouncer. "I'm looking for…the Man sent me."

The bouncer at once lost his aloof manner. "Right this way," he led Roger through the throngs of horny men and through another door. The room they entered was smaller and filled with men as well. These men however seemed to be the wealthy of the wealthy. Some were half dressed. There were some smoking marijuana, others snorting coke. One or two were paired up with men who seemed to be from a completely different walk of life. They were making out with these young college student wannabes in dark corners, trying desperately not to get caught.

"Enjoy," the bouncer said before closing the door behind him.

This was where the Man sent him. To an orgy?

It took Roger a moment to realize that the walls were lined with doors. Most of them were unmarked, but one stood out to Roger. One that was marked 'Private'.

Roger didn't know why he decided to open it, but once he'd decided there was no turning back. He put his hand on the knob and as discretely as possible, opened the surprisingly unlocked door.

The room was pitch black, but far from silent. Wild, out of control moans were bouncing off the walls.

"Oh shit," Roger realized at last what the rooms were for. Shielding his eyes, he began to walk out. "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," a masculine voice mumbled. "Isn't it?" The lump Roger supposed the voice belonged to thrusted some part of its body into the other, smaller lump.

"Yeah," a familiar voice whimpered, muffled by blankets.

That voice.

He knew that voice.

It was always bugging him at 4 am to take his damn AZT.

It was always narrating something into a lens.

It had been yelling at him a few hours ago to give him his fucking drugs.

_Mark?_

"Mark? Is that you?" Roger flicked on the lights.

The bed in the middle of the room had was covered by thin white sheets. Under it, the two lumps Roger had only barely seen in the dark were clearly defined. They stopped moving at the mention of Mark's name. The sheets rustled and a man, maybe forty popped out from under them.

"Mark?" The guy was clearly a little tipsy or high, or maybe both. His naked chest was covered in sweat and he was out of breath as he repeated the name. "Is that your name?" He asked the lump.

"Who's under there with you?" Roger asked with a deadly calm.

"Look man-"

"Who the fuck is under there?"

More rustling and a blonde head revealed itself from under the covers. "Oh fuck Roger, what the hell are you doing here?"

The man looked from Roger to Mark before his mouth dropped slightly open. "Oh, are you the boyfriend? I didn't know…" he sprang up from the bed and pulled on his boxers. "I'll just, leave this here." He put a wad of bills on the bedside table and high tailed it out of the room, but not before giving Roger a wink that clearly said, 'yeah, I know what you've got and I'm jealous.'

Roger's eyes never left the guy. He had been trying to fuck his Mark. Had he succeeded? He felt sick just thinking about it.

Mark looked so little in the big white bed, the fact that he was cowering wasn't helping any. He was holding the sheets close to his chin, hiding something, reminding Roger of how quickly he'd put his scarf on any time Roger noticed him without it.

Roger's eyes were fixed on the money the man had left. "Who was he?" He didn't even have the strength to yell anymore, he just asked.

"He was…I met him…" Mark's eyes were darting around the room, Roger could tell he was looking for a way to escape, but Roger was blocking the only way out.

"You don't know who he was, do you?"

Mark remained silent, which told Roger all he needed to know.

"So this is where you've been. This is how you've been getting the money. I was wondering." Roger sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You've got to believe me Roger, it was only once-"

"Once." Roger's doubt showed through.

"Twice," Mark admitted.

On a whim, Roger whipped the blankets off of Mark. He was naked underneath and Roger could see the veins underneath his translucent skin, could see marks littering his skin, some fresh some faded. Shivering, Mark closed his eyes under Roger's scrutiny.

"You were gonna fuck him. For money. For smack."

Mark winced. Roger supposed that the truth was a lot harder to hear than he'd anticipated. "Could you not say it like that Roger? It's so-"

"Blunt? Honest?"

"Ugly," Mark finished. "Look Roger, no more here. Let's go home and I tell you everything you wanna know, I promise. But let's just get outta here."

"No," Roger said quietly. "I…have to go," he clenched his fists, partly to keep from punching Mark.

"Go?" Mark's voice sounded so weak, so forlorn, but Roger could barely hear him above the sound of blood pounding in his ears. "Go where?"

"Away Mark! I can't…" Roger didn't ever finish his sentence as he walked out the door.


	9. Lying Desperation

Hi. Cordyangel here, sorry for the long time in updating. Weird thing is, this chapter's been written for awhile, I just didn't feel like posting it. I don't really like it, but I know I have to get past it so I can go on to better things. But help! I have no clue where this story may be going. Help would be greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 8: Lying Desperation **

**"I walk this lonely road  
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes  
But it's only me  
And I walk alone,"**

**-_Boulevard of Broken Dreams,_ Green Day**

Roger had no clue where he was going. Collins was…not available. Benny was off living large with Alison in Westport. He had no place to go except to…

Maureen. He didn't want to go to her, but she was better than nothing.

"Honey bear!" A high voice came through the door of Maureen's apartment. "Oh yeah!"

Roger winced as he brought his fist up to rap on the door. This was desperation.

"Was that someone at the door?" Another woman's voice asked.

The sounds of mattress springs and the rustling of sheets were only barely muffled by the door. It creaked open and a pretty woman with brown curly hair and caramel colored skin poked her head out.

"Come back to me lover!" Maureen's voice screamed.

"Maureen?" The woman, _shit, what was her name, Mark had told me…I hadn't really been listening but._.. _Jane? Joan?_ "I think it's for you."

"Roger?" Wrapped in sheets, Maureen padded to the door. "Thanks Joanne." She opened the door wider to let him in. "What are you doing here?" She looked around him out the door. "Is Mark here too?"

"No, he's not. I actually came because…I have no place else to go."

Joanne, not knowing really what to do reverted to a Suzy Homemaker. "You want, I could make some tea?"

"That'd be great honey bear," Maureen said gratefully. "Let's go into another room Roge," she led him past the oddly placed bedroom into a living room.

"So," she said, after Joanne had brought their tea. "What brings you to Avenue A?"

"I was…walking…and I haven't seen you in awhile…and-"

"Cut the crap Roger, you were never good with small talk. What's wrong? Is everything okay?" Maureen lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Are you…clean? You're not back on heroin are you?"

"No," Roger said quickly. "I've been clean for awhile now." But though Roger had been the one to seek Maureen out, he still didn't want to tell her about Mark. He was the only one who knew so far, and Roger knew that's how Mark would want it. Maureen would only make a big fuss, call Benny and Collins and be the drama queen she always was. Besides, telling everyone that Mark was addicted to smack was just like telling a group of four year olds that Santa didn't exist. Roger wouldn't be the one to spill the beans; he'd save that for Mark, when he was better.

"Mark and I got into a fight," Roger finished lamely.

"A fight?" Maureen wrinkled her brow. "About what? Was it serious? You guys never fight."

"About…stuff."

She squinted her eyes. "Roger, I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on."

Roger stood up. "You know Maureen, you've been great really. But I don't think you can help. I think…I need to do this alone."

"If you need me, you know where I live," she smiled.

"Yeah…thanks Maureen."

An hour had passed since Roger had caught Mark in mid fuck with that stranger and he was in the exact same position, except now he was feeling guilty. Mark on heroin or not never would've abandoned him naked in the middle of a seedy nightclub. Further proof that even as an addict, Mark was the better man. But here was Roger's chance to help Mark, really help Mark and what was he doing? Running away?

_Fuck that, _Roger thought to himself as he walked down the lonely streets. He owed Mark and at the very least, he needed to help him in whatever way he could.

He would go back.

But not for a while.


	10. I’m Lying in an Alley

**Points to anyone who can see what play I stole Mark's delirious line from, the one Roger talks about being bitten in the ass by Mark's theatre days about. It's not the exact thing, but close enough. **

**Chapter 9: I'm Lying in an Alley Because I Took a Step Too Far**

"**We are all on drugs yeah,  
****Never getting enough (never get enough)  
****We are all on drugs yeah,  
****Gimme some of that stuff,"**

**-_We Are All On Drugs_, Weezer**

Part of Mark considered leaving the money on the bureau where the guy had left it. But another part, a much stronger part demanded that he take the money. It didn't matter how he'd happened to earn it, all that mattered was that now it was his.

He flipped through the crumpled bills. $100, plus a business card. Throwing the business card away, Mark gathered his clothes, got dressed and left the room as if nothing had happened, as if his whole world weren't falling apart, as if Roger hadn't left him in this shit strip club to go back to a shit apartment.

As Mark left, he caught the Man's eye. He stopped in his tracks, trying to fight the urge to go over there and buy some smack.

He hadn't really gone too far yet. He'd snorted the tiniest bit of what's his face's stash, but not enough to get high, just enough to get him through the ordeal. He could go back to the apartment, wait for Roger and tell him everything that had happened, minus the snorting part. And Roger would be so relieved he didn't do more that he'd take Mark back.

And angels could fly out of Mark's ass. Roger wasn't going to come back. He was coping with Mark's problem the only way he knew how, abandonment.

Shivering and cold, Mark shoved the money into the Man's hand and took the little bag in exchange.

Mark didn't make it five feet before he was opening the bag. He didn't have anything to inject it with but he snorted a quarter of the powder before tucking it into his back pocket.

Feeling the tiniest bit better, he started walking away once again before someone in the shadows called to him.

"Hey kid!"

A fist collided with Mark's face and then the world went dark.

MRMRMRMRMRM

Either Roger was being paranoid or he was hearing someone in the shadows.

"Ugh," a distinctive moan came from the alley.

Someone was hurting in the alley. They could be close to death, or scared or cold and tired and…why the fuck did Roger care?

He didn't. But he was trying to be a new man, a man who would take care of people and make Mark proud.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he grumbled, ducking into the dark alley. "If I get mugged while trying to do a good deed-" Roger stopped. There was someone there. Beneath the dirt and blood and sweat, the person looked young, maybe 19 or 20. Probably a college kid who'd been flashing money in the wrong place at the wrong time. But looking at the kid's clothes, he didn't seem to be rich; they were too torn, too ragged to be new. It was definitely a guy, that Roger was sure of. His eyes fluttered open and revealed fierce blue eyes that seemed to pierce Roger's. "Roger?" The kid slurred out.

"Mark?" Roger whispered. "Mark…is that you?"

"Roger, you're mean…you left me."

Roger quickly tried to figure out how long Mark had been out there. He was probably suffering from hypothermia, depending how long he'd been out in the freezing New York air. Besides, Mark's coat was nowhere to be found. He wasn't even wearing his glasses; they were crushed next to his face.

"I'm sorry Roger," Mark began crying pitifully. "You're not mean. I'm mean. I…did bad things. I fucked up Roger."

He was clearly delusional; nothing else would make Mark so…childishly open. "Mark, it's okay. Can you get up?"

Mark lifted up his head and tried to nod it up and down but failed. "Maybe?"

"That's a no," Roger scooped Mark up with less effort than even he'd expected. Carrying Mark made Roger realize how much weight he'd lost, how small he'd become. "Shit Mark, when we get home I'm gonna have to stuff a steak down your scrawny throat."

A girlish giggle escaped Mark. "We can't afford meat Roger. Don't be silly. It's perfectly easy to be silly!"

Roger winced. There were Mark's thespian days coming back to bite him in the ass. "Right."

"Roger…when we get home can I call my mom? I want to tell her…tell her I love her," Mark buried his nose into Roger's neck so that as he spoke his breath warmed him. "And tell everyone…Collins and Maureen and Maureen's girlfriend and Benny that I love them. And I love you too Roger. Most of all you," his words were getting slower and breaths more labored.

"Mark? Stay awake Mark," Roger tried to recall what he'd learned in health class but he must've ditched the day they'd covered hypothermia. But he did know that Mark falling asleep would be a bad thing, he would most likely never wake up. "Mark, don't fall asleep, we're almost there."

"But…I want to," he mumbled sleepily.

"Well don't," Roger said more sharply than he'd intended. "I mean, just try to stay awake."

"Roger? If I stay awake like I'm 'sposed to, do you promise not to leave? Even if I'm bad again?"

He didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to promise even if he'd thought he'd be able to keep it. But Mark was so out of it, it was doubtful he'd remember any of this conversation in the morning. Still, a part of him felt bad about lying. _Suck it up. _"Shit Mark, yes. I promise I won't leave you again."

"Good. I'll stay awake."

**MRMRMRMRMRMRMR**

**This chapter is dedicated to Becky. Probably wouldn't have appreciated the subject matter or the prolific swearing, but she definitely would have appreciated the fact that it's out there. Rest in Peace.**


	11. Lying, Just Laying

**Okay, no one guessed it. But because I love you so much, this chapter is dedicated to all my reviewers. The play, by the way (haha, rhyme) was _The Importance of Being Earnest_, which I am performing in in…9 days! So forgive me if I don't post for a while. The original line was, "Don't be cynical, it's perfectly easy to be cynical!" If you haven't read it, you should. It's good stuff.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Mark, later on, when we get to the part where I strip him, I wouldn't be trying my hardest not to look at him. In other words, Jonathon Larson owns all.**

**Chapter 10: Lying, Just Laying**

**I want to confiscate your drugs  
****I don't think I can get enough**

**-_Take a Wild Guess_, Duh (_We Are All On Drugs_, Weezer)**

Even getting Mark up the stairs wasn't as hard as it should've been. He laid the still shivering Mark on the couch. "Mark? Open your eyes, we're home. Mark." Roger patted his face. "Mark, open your eyes." When he still didn't listen, Roger began to get worried. "Mark, open your fucking eyes. Mark!"

Slowly, Mark's eyes fluttered open. "Yeah?"

Roger let out the breath he'd been holding. "Fuck Mark, you scared me!" He grabbed the closest thing, a phonebook and flung it across the room. "Fuck!" He yelled.

"Roger," Mark curled into himself a little more. "I'm cold. And you're scaring me."

"I'm scaring you?" Roger laughed a little crazily. "I'm scaring you?" He let out a torrent of swears, they came one after another in a steady stream. "Fuck!" He finished quietly.

But Mark didn't answer. Didn't react. Just kept on shivering, whether from withdrawal or the cold, Roger couldn't tell.

"And once again, the prize for biggest asshole goes to…"Roger muttered under his breath. _While you were busy cursing the world he was trying to keep warm. _

Running around the loft Roger gathered all the blankets in the house. He was suddenly glad that Maureen hadn't come to pick up the rest of her things; she'd left several fluffy cow covered blankets behind. Lying them on Mark's bed, he wrapped the blonde up in them tightly, making sure that there was no way he could work himself out of them.

But after that, Roger was at a loss. He knew that taking Mark to a hospital wasn't feasible, they were beyond broke and there would be too many questions. But he was afraid to do anything else without knowing how it would affect Mark. Quickly, he dialed Collins' number and prayed that he'd be there.

"Collins!" He breathed with relief the moment the professor picked up. "Hypothetical question, if someone has hypothermia, what do you do?"

Roger could almost hear Collins' frowning over the phone line. "Roger, New York is cold, but not that cold-"

"Please Collins!" He yelled into the phone. "Can you just tell me?"

"Well…wrap them in blankets," Roger made a mental check next to that. "Give them something warm to drink, but not too warm or else they'll go into shock. And a warm bath. That should do it. Any specific reason you wanna know?"

The moment Collins stopped talking Roger hung up the phone and went about to do what he'd suggested. "Mark, I'm gonna get you something to drink and I want you to drink all of it, okay?" Mark nodded and Roger went into the kitchen to make some tea.

"Here," Roger didn't really have to worry about the water being too hot, that was a luxury he didn't even dare dream of. Slowly Mark downed the cup, as Roger filled the tub with warm water.

"Can I go to sleep now?" He asked wearily.

"Uh, not now. In a little while," Roger struggled to get Mark out of his clothes. "First you're going to take a bath, okay?" He picked his friend up gingerly, trying desperately not to hurt him. Slowly he stripped him down.

"Brr," Mark shivered again.

"It's okay, you'll be okay," Roger didn't even pause when he reached the fly of Mark's jeans, rather he unzipped it deftly trying his hardest not to focus on Mark's shriveled organ. "You ready? Let's go."

**MRMRMRMRMRMR**

When Mark woke up, he wasn't shivering. Wasn't even experiencing the cold sweat that usually accompanied a period without drugs. Groaning, he turned over on his bed, taking all the blankets with him. Roger was sitting in the corner of the room, looking out the window pensively. With a flash Mark remembered a little of what he'd said the day before. All he clearly remembered was being cold, being so deathly cold until Roger had somehow made him warm again. And he remembered being a little too loose with his tongue, telling Roger he loved him, wanting to call his mother.

Mark rolled his eyes at his last thought. Roger must've known he was out of it, wanting to call his mother was a sure sign of insanity.

"You're up," Roger looked at Mark before he had a chance to close his eyes again and feign sleep.

"Yeah."

"Feeling better?" He asked, turning his attention back to the window.

"Uh, yeah. Except I can't really move," Mark attempted a weak smile.

"I'm not sure if that's a bad thing," Roger muttered. "Now that you can't move, I think I'll ask you a few questions."

"Rog, I've got to pee."

"Well that's too fucking bad, isn't it?" Roger composed himself. "Just answer a few questions and then you can go."

Mark tried to free himself but Roger had made sure he wouldn't be able to. "Okay. What do you want to know?" He asked quietly.

"Everything."

"Well shit Roger, gimme a place to start! This is hard enough without you adding to it."

Roger was silent for a moment before asking his first question. "When did you start?"

"Do you remember that night? April was at her own apartment for once and we had the whole apartment to ourselves? Benny and Collins were shopping and Maureen was taking care of 'legal issues'." Mark laughed a little at the last one. "Yeah…and you got high and you left more in the needle. That's when."

Roger did remember. He remembered thinking that Mark was safe, that Mark wouldn't be stupid enough to take his offer. He'd been wrong.

"It started out small, but then…shit happened, you know? And I was using more and shit Rog, I've really gotta go."

Exasperatedly, Roger unwrapped Mark from his shroud. Mark scampered to the bathroom but Roger was faster, putting his arm over the door before Mark could get in. "You get five minutes," he said. "Any more and I'll come in, decent or not."

Mark bit back any protestations he might've thought about making. Hadn't he done the same thing?

Through the door he could hear Roger on the phone with someone. The tail end of the conversation drifted in.

"Yeah, I found out what's going on." Mark could almost hear Roger running his fingers through his hair.

"It's…my problem Collins. Bad or not, I'm the one who has to deal with it."

Roger had been talking to Collins about him? How long had he suspected about the drugs? Apparently Mark hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought.

"No, no, I'll be fine. We'll get through this. Somehow."

Mark made a ruckus as he washed his hands so Roger would know he was done. He slipped from the bathroom as if he hadn't heard a word.

Roger was sitting at the table when Mark emerged. His hands were folded solemnly before him. He looked so much older than his twenty three years and Mark couldn't help but feel intimidated. "Sit down."

Mark did as he was told.

"I want you to give me the money that guy gave you." It was Roger's first reference to the scene he'd walked in on the day before.

"I don't have it," Mark said meekly.

"What?"

"I-" Mark cleared his throat and spoke strongly and clearly. "I don't have it."

The vein in Roger's temple throbbed and his jaw tightened. His voice however, remained even. "Where is it?"

"I spent it-" Mark began.

"Fuck Mark! On more?"

"Yes," he rushed on. "But I don't have any more, I swear!"

"Why should I believe you?" Roger asked harshly.

"When you found me…I'd just been mugged." By the look on Roger's face it was likely he'd forgotten precisely how he'd found Mark. "I was stupid, I snorted some of it in the open and someone must've seen me. They took it all Roger. I swear."

Roger seemed somewhat satisfied with the response. "Mark," he began slowly. "I think you should go to rehab."


	12. Incognito Lies

**Yeah, I have no idea how they're paying for rehab. Don't ask me, I posted didn't I! I'm having major trouble with this story so input/reviews are not only welcomed but...I don't know. Needed, yes, they are needed. But first, check out _I Am Jack's Roger _(Someone review on that story (other than PissiMissi and Renthead) please!) and _Of Always and Definites. _Actually, review first and then check out the others. Or whatever.**

**Chapter 12: Incognito Lies**

"**You write such pretty words  
****But life's no storybook,"**

**-_Lover I Don't Have To Love_, Bright Eyes**

For as long as he lived, Roger would never forget the look on Mark's face when he suggested rehab.

"What?"

"While you were sleeping, I thought. A lot. I can't help you." If Roger didn't know him better, he would've thought Mark was having a panic attack. His eyes widened and he looked like a trapped animal desperate to get out.

"You want to send me away? But you just told Collins…"

Shit. He'd been eavesdropping. "I knew if I told Collins I couldn't deal with you, he'd come down and try to help. Things are going good for him in Massachusetts. He's got a job, a boyfriend. He doesn't need us to fuck it up."

"Is that all I am to you? Someone who fucked up your life?" Mark asked, more hurt than angry. "Excuse me, but you did a pretty good job of doing that yourself."

"And Collins had to help pay for it. I don't want to do that to him again, he can't keep putting his life off to deal with us."

"Funny," Mark muttered under his breath. "That's what I thought I did for you."

"Mark," Roger said again quietly. "I'm not you. Not in a million years, not even close. I can't help you like you helped me."

"You can't even try?" Mark asked with tears in his voice.

"Mark," Roger splayed his hands on the tabletop. "This is what's best for you, you're all I'm thinking about," the lie burned his throat has he coughed it up.

Worst of all, Mark knew he was lying. "No, this is what's best for you. Everything is always what's best for you!" He slammed down his hand, weak as it was and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Roger to his own private pity party.

He ran his fingers over the glossy paper making up the pamphlet. _It is what's best, _he repeated to himself. _It is. _

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

Despite his many protests, the next day Roger packed up all of Mark's things into his suitcase and laid them next to the door. Mark shot daggers at him, but he ignored them. Finally, when he was done he dragged Mark down the stairs where the cab was waiting for them.

Mark refused to look at him the whole drive there, didn't even exchange a glance about the fact that they were in a cab, though he knew it probably meant Roger wouldn't be eating for a while.

They pulled up to the rehab center.

It was a drab building. The lighting used in the brochure had definitely lent a bit of…not cheer exactly, but a bit of luster. Without it, one could see the center as it really was; a prison.

"It looks nice and…" Roger searched for a word. "Safe," he finished proudly. Mark just ignored him and went into the building.

"My name is Mark," he said to the receptionist, shocking Roger. He hadn't said a word to him, but here he was chatting up this random woman?

Roger realized in a flash what Mark was doing. He wasn't lettingRoger check him in so he could check out at any time. Mark was throwing his independence in Roger's face and it hurt more than he'd perhaps expected it would've.

"I'm checking him in," Roger broke in quickly. "My name is Roger Davis." Roger could feel Mark's hate for him at that moment, but he didn't care.

"Is that true?" Mark gave a short nod and for a moment, he looked completely defeated but then he regained his composure.

The receptionist handed Mark a wristband and led him over to a nurse. "Take him to his room." She turned to Roger again. "Now, the subject of payment…"


	13. Lying, Just Laying Part Two

**Thank my infected punctured eardrum for this chapter, without it, I probably never would've posted again.**

**This chapter signals the beginning of the end. And if you think Collins is OOC later, he is, but not really. He's under duress so forgive the poor guy.**

**Chapter 13: Lying, Just Laying Part Two**

**But I'm sleeping I'm so deep in  
So much more real to me closer than reality  
It's always cold always day always here  
Always say I'm alright I'll be okay  
If I can keep myself awake (keep myself awake...) **

**-_Keep Myself Awake_, Black Lab**

****

When Roger reached the loft again he had barely walked in before the phone rang. "Speak!" his and Mark's voices cut through the apartment, reminding Roger of better times.

"Hey guys, it's me." Even through the phone Collins' voice was unmistakable. "Just calling to check up on you guys since you seemed a little frantic yesterday…" he trailed off a little. "Look Roger, I know you're there. I know you won't answer the phone but…just call me okay? Let me know everything's okay?" Giving one last exasperated sigh, Collins hung up the phone.

Part of Roger wanted to reach out towards that phone and assure Collins that yes, indeed, everything would be just fine. No, Mark wasn't around at present, but he'd soon be back and better than ever. He couldn't lie to Collins like that though. Everything wasn't okay, it would never be okay.

Like Judas he'd sold his friend, his best friend out for nothing but his own gain.

If Collins were here…

Maureen never would've…

Benny could've helped him…

Even April might've…

Roger shook his head forcefully.

They weren't here. So they didn't matter. Yeah, maybe if they were around things would've been different…but if they'd been around maybe Mark wouldn't have turned to drugs.

Or maybe he still would've.

Rubbing his eyes, Roger settled down onto the couch and laid back, letting his guilt wash over him.

MRMRMRMRMR

Collins hung up the phone, his actions bleeding frustration. He wasn't stupid, he knew somethignw was going on. Normal people didn't call in the middle of the night wondering how to cure hypothermia. Of course, he never had classified himself or any of the other people he hung out with as normal.

What worried Collins so much was the fact that Roger had called. That meant that Mark had been in danger, an unanticipated turn of events. Mark had always taken care of Roger, whether it was something trivial like a cold or a hangover to the big things, like the HIV and withdrawal. Collins was confident in Mark's ability to take care of Roger, it was what he was good at. But Roger had never had a caring bone in his body.

He supposed it was his own fault, for leaving Mark and Roger alone. He'd forced Mark to be the one to help Roger and left him in his not-so-trustworthy care. It was his own fault he hadn't remembered that they would have to have a give-and-take relationship, something Roger wasn't quite capable of yet.

Collins glanced over at his school calendar. It was almost time for another vacation…and he knew just what to do with it.

MRMRMRMR

Roger couldn't sleep.

_I don't deserve to sleep,_ he thought bitterly.

It had been…a week? He didn't really know. He hadn't really left the loft. Rather he'd stayed holed up, occasionally eating but mostly just lying on his back wishing for sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes though he just saw Mark, pale Mark lying on white sheets like he'd been that time Roger found him inside the Catscratch Club…

Through his daze, Roger thought he heard something but he couldn't be sure. It had probably been his imagination, running away with him. But when he heard the door open, he knew that it had to be real.

"Mark?" he called out tentatively.

"Try again," a deep voice growled from the door.

"Collins?" Roger asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," he said picking his way through the apartment. "No food," he muttered, opening the cupboards. "No AZT," he said, his voice coming from the bathroom. "Shit man! No toilet paper!" He came back into the living room looking rather disgusted. "Lemme guess, no money?"

Roger gave a nod and failed to mention that even if there had been money, he wouldn't have gone out to the store.

"Okay," Collins sighed. "Where's Mark?"

Roger reluctantly sat up. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

"I get two calls from you in a week, both of them in which you're concerned for Mark and you expect me not to wonder?"

"He's not here," Roger mumbled.

"Do you know where he is?"

Roger refused to answer.

"Roger, I love you and all, but if you don't tell me where the fuck Mark is I will beat the shit out of you, friend or no," Collins threatened, his voice deadly serious.

Though he had tried his hardest not to, Roger's gaze flickered over to the refrigerator. Collins' eyes followed Roger and then landed on the pamphlet. He went over to it.

"Rehab?" he asked, confused. "But Mark didn't put you into rehab. He hadn't even thought of putting you in rehab-"

"It wasn't for me!" Roger burst out. Calming himself, he opened his mouth again. "It was for him."

"I don't understand," Collins said plainly.

"Remember when I called you to say that Mark had been acting weird? That was why. He was on smack."  
"He was doing heroin? How bad was it?"

"I found him fucking a guy for money so he could buy more. How bad do you think it was?"

Collins sank down to the floor. "You've gotta be shitting me. Mark?" His gaze returned to Roger. "How the fuck did you let this happen?"


	14. Truths, Lies and Ultimatums

**I'm going to go see RENT tomorrow! I'm so excited! So excited actually, that not only am I updating two chapters (cuz they're so short) but that I actually finished this story. One more chapter to go (16 in all) and then the end!**

**Chapter 14: Truths, Lies and Ultimatums**

**No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes **

No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies …

**  
No one knows what it's like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do  
And I blame you **

**-_Behind Blue Eyes, _The Who **

Roger froze. "What?"

"I trusted you! I trusted that you would get your act together, get off the drugs and then keep Mark safe. And you didn't. How did you let this happen?" Collins repeated.

"I didn't let this happen!" Roger said sharply. "You weren't here Thomas! He needed all of us, you, Maureen, Benny and none of you were there for him. It's not my fault you failed him."

Collins took a deep breath to calm himself down. He neither rejected nor accepted Roger's statements but instead began talking again.. "You are going to go and get him," he said slowly. "You are going to haul ass to get to that _place_," he spat the word out as if it were dirty, "and you are going to pull Mark out of there. Do you understand me?"

"You don't have the right to tell me what to do _Thomas._ You have a job you love, a boyfriend you fuck, a life that's rooted back in Massachusetts. If I bring Mark back, who's gonna take care of him? Huh? You need the money, NYU isn't busting down your doors. I can't take care of Mark, but rehab can."

"So that's your excuse for sending him there, that you couldn't _handle_ him? God Roger, how can you be so stupid? The first sign of trouble and you ship him off-"

"First sign of trouble? Did you hear me? He was fucking people for money Collins! Do you know what that's called? A whore. Mark was a fucking whore! I couldn't help him when it came to shit like that!"

Collins looked Roger dead in the eye. "You could've tried."

Silence pervaded the room in the moments that followed before Collins began to speak again. "I'm not going to blame you anymore, but I am not letting Mark stay there another night. Either you go down there and bring him back to the loft, or I'm going to get him."

"You can't do that," Roger scoffed.

"Watch me."

"Where will you bring him?" Roger asked, a little more scared.

"I'll take him back to Massachusetts with me. What's it going to be?"

Roger looked at his friend, betrayal written on his face. "You can't ask me to make that decision."

"I can, and I am. What's it going to be Roger?"


	15. Lying, Just Laying Part Three

**Second chapter, but I hope you all reviewed the first one. This is why I hate double posting, but I'm doing it because I had no other choice.**

**Chapter 15: Lying, Just Laying Part 3 **

**Waking up from this nightmare  
How's your life?  
What's it like there?  
Is it all what you want it to be?  
Does it hurt when you think about me?  
And how broken my heart is**

Take you away from that empty apartment  
You stay, and forget where the heart is  
Someday if ever you loved me you'd say, it's okay 

**-_Empty Apartment, _Yellowcard **

Mark couldn't sleep.

He had only been there for six days…168 hours; 8,640 minutes; or 518,400 seconds. Figuring out those numbers had taken the better part of his session with the resident psychologist.

And how Mark loved those visits. He chuckled as he remembered his first day.

"How are you?" the psychiatrist had asked, showing Mark to his seat. His nametag said Dr. Alexander.

He was coming off his first night of withdrawal, how was he supposed to feel? "Peachy keen," he rasped out, his voice shaking.

Dr. Alexander scribbled something down on his clipboard and Mark could just imagine what it said: _Patient shows sarcasm and pasty white complexion. _"Mhmm. Your fluids have been collected for testing for STDs."

"That's nice to know."

"What do you imagine they'll find?"

Mark struggled to compose himself enough to answer. "Do I look psychic?"

The doctor sighed. "Okay, let's break this down. Have you shared any needles?"

"Once," Mark admitted. "But only once."

Dr. Alexander gave a slight nod before writing on his paper. "Better than most. And how long have you been on heroin?"

"7 months."

"And what is your sexual history? Can you give me the names and medical history of your previous partners?"

"Well, in eighth grade there was Nanette Himmelfarb," Mark began.

"Mr. Cohen, please answer the question seriously."

Mark let out a sigh. "They were all clean except…I don't know about the last couple," he mumbled.

"You didn't find out before you slept with them?" the doctor pressed on.

"Look, I don't even know their names, okay? The last two men I slept with…I picked them up off the street, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Did they do heroin with you?" the doctor asked, unmoved by Mark's confessions.

"No," he sighed again. "But one offered to give me heroin."

"Give?"

"Pay me with heroin," Mark amended.

"I see Mr. Cohen. And did you accept?"

Mark inhaled sharply. "I really don't see how that is any of your business-"

"He may've tampered with it, putting you at risk for a whole lot of different things."

"No," he said slowly. "I didn't take it. Are we done now?"

"Yes Mr. Cohen," he said, his voice flat and monotonous. "We're done."

That was the last time Mark spoke to his psychiatrist. Dr. Alexander kept on posing questions, but he refused to answer. He didn't want to talk about the guy who'd brought him to rehab, the philosopher with the funny name who'd called, the lesbian ex-girlfriend Dr. Alexander strangely knew about or the traitorous ex-roommate who was helping pay for the bills. He didn't want to talk about any of them, and that's all Dr. Alexander wanted to talk about, with the exception of sometimes mentioning Cindy or his parents.

But for all Mark cared, they could all drop dead.


	16. Uncovering the Truth

**This is appalling. Two reviews. Two. I don't consider myself greedy, but that was just a little insulting. I can't say I wasn't personally hurt by that. I mean, some authors get pissed if they don't get seven reviews per chapter. I got two…for two chapters. I guess only two people care about my story, not including myself.**

**Last chapter. Not that anyone cares…just saying. Anyway, to all Americans, happy Independence Day!**

**Chapter 16: Uncovering the Truth**

**It's okay to be angry and never let go  
It only gets harder the more that you know  
When you get lonely if no one's around  
You know that I'll catch you when you're falling down  
We came together but you left alone  
And I know how it feels to walk out on your own  
Maybe someday I will see you again  
And you'll look me in my eyes and call me your friend  
-_Empty Apartment, _Yellowcard**

"You cannot just withdraw him from treatment! The repercussions would be devastating! He might never get over this addiction without some stability, without the help you thought you were unfit to give!"

"I thought wrong," a familiar husky voice said. "And I want to get him out now."

_Roger? _Mark sat up in bed. Was that Roger outside his door?

"Ma'am," another voice broke in, this one smoother and more calm, "I know you want to help, but this was all just a misunderstanding."

Mark held his breath in the silence that followed.

"And I know," the smooth voice punctured the silence, "that you wouldn't want me to have to make a scene in here. You can see that a Mr. Roger Davis checked a Mr. Mark Cohen in and now Mr. Roger Davis would like to check Mr. Mark Cohen out. It's that simple."

"It's not that simple," the woman's voice seemed weak and ugly compared with the voice from before, Collins' Mark supposed. "He's not ready, he's not even off the drugs and without the counselling he severely needs, he's not going to get better."

"You don't know what he needs!" Roger spoke again, louder than before. Mark sat up and scooted towards the door and opened it just a crack so he could see what was happening. Briefly, he wondered how Roger had made it so far into the institution without being stopped or told that he couldn't get him out.

"Calm down Roger," Mark could see Collins putting an arm around the blond, but he just shoved it away.

"No! I'm not going to calm down! I made the mistake of putting him here and now I want to fix it. If you don't wake him up and bring him out of here right now, then I will go in there and drag him out if I have to."

"You can't-"

"I'm sure you'll find that Mr. Davis is in completely within legal boundaries," Collins said to the nurse but his eyes still on Roger.

She had no choice, Roger could see it, Collins could see it, even Mark from his crappy spectator's seat could see it. She would have to let them take him.

"Okay," Roger said and pushed forward into Mark's room.

"Oomph," he said as he pushed right into Mark.

They stared at each other for a moment, not saying a word.

"You're up," Roger said lamely.

"You're here," Mark returned with an even lamer response.

"Look man, I'm sorry, I don't know what I-"

"Roger, can we just go home now?" Mark asked, his eyes red, his hands shaking and his legs feeling like they were about to give out. Collins took in Mark's appearance, covered his shock quickly and moved to pick Mark up.

"Sure," Roger said. "Let's all just…go home."

And through his shakes and trembles, Mark smiled.


End file.
